Dripping Down
by KoruChaos
Summary: So I finally got around to doing something on this website. Expect sad characters, AUs, inconsistencies, and general idiocy. Teen rating for swearing, some violence (mostly implied), and me being depressing. Whoops.
1. Perfect Match

Joey sighed quietly in frustration. Alice had been so close, even if he had to use both of her actresses, but yet so far. His attempt at a Bendy was laughable, as he didn't want to use himself as a host and Sammy was smart enough to avoid both Joey's office and anything that had anything to do with the ink machine. His last shot was making a perfect Boris.

But who was he supposed to use?

At first he'd thought of Wally Franks, but quickly realized that he was too annoying to be a good Boris. Then his mind went back to Sammy, but there was the aforementioned problem with that, as well as the fact that the music director lent himself far easier to Bendy, even though the overalls the cartoon wolf wore had been a cue taken from him. What about Norman? No, Sammy would miss him too much and start complaining even more than usual. After that there was the idea of using someone expendable, like Grant Cohen, Thomas Conner, or Shawn Flynn, but he wanted this one to be as good as possible. He'd thought of using Henry, but he'd have to somehow lure him back to the studio after only a few years of departure, while the animator's parents were surely still alive.

Then it hit him. He could use Murray Hill.

Murray Hill was almost a perfect fit- intimidatingly tall and a loner, the man almost never spoke, often attempting to duck out of conversations by claiming the ink machine was running louder than usual or that he thought a pipe had broken again, rushing off as fast as he could to be rid of the situation, usually hitting his head on the comparatively short doorframe. He even knew how to play clarinet. And best of all? He worked the nightshift, making it so that he almost never interacted with anyone, usually being too tired to realize when people were talking to him.

Yes, that could work. And if it didn't work right off the bat...

Well, he'd just have to _**make**_ it work.

 _ **a/n- Soooo, in case you haven't noticed, everything in these oneshots will probably be incorrect by the time the final chapter is released. Oh well, I'm sticking with it, at least for now.**_

 _ **My main AU**_


	2. Fixing Errors

Joey huffed in irritation when he saw the results of his newest experiment. He honestly thought it could have worked, but apparently it would need a little bit of a push to be perfect.

Carefully prying the wolf-like creature from the table it had been strapped to, he sat it down in a chair so he could get a better look at what exactly went wrong. Thankfully it was still unconscious.

Now that he was able to look at it up-close, there were lots of little imperfections, a few of which wouldn't be able to be fixed. For instance, it was still too short, and he couldn't think of a way to stretch it out to its intended height.

However, most of them were minor errors that could be fixed quite easily. He started by ripping the gears off of the toon's gloves, and he sighed in relief when there wasn't any visible damage to the fabric. Next was reshaping the ears, which was as simple as pinching them into the familiar teardrop shapes of Boris'. All he had to do to get rid of the tail was chop it off, and the lack of a widow's peak was repaired with a pen and some whiteout. As for the overalls, he already had them prepared and set to the side.

Now he just needed it to wake up.

 _ **a/n- Sequel thing to Perfect Match, followed up by the next chapter.**_

 _ **My main AU.**_


	3. Silent

It woke up slowly, probably over the course of half an hour, drifting in and out of sleep, but it finally opened its eyes, greeted by the sight of a very tired-looking man with a necktie and bowler hat. The man grinned at it when he finally noticed it looking at him. "Hey there, buddy! Do you remember your name?" The creature stared silently at the floor for a good minute or two before looking back up at the man with the tie and shook its head. It couldn't remember anything except blurred images and sounds that disappeared as soon as it tried to focus on them. "Ah, okay. You're Boris! You're a wolf." 'Boris' tilted its head slightly. That didn't sound quite right, but it didn't have anything else to go by, so that would have to work for now.

"Alright, do you know my name?" 'Boris' shook its head again. "My name's Joey Drew. I'm one of the people who created you. Well, technically I created this you, but I only helped with the original." The toon blinked at him rather owlishly. "Uh, can you try and say something?" 'Boris' opened its mouth so it could attempt to make a noise, but nothing came out, so it just shook its head. The look on Joey's face turned from friendly to disappointed and angry in a split second, startling the wolf sitting before him. The human quickly grabbed the toon by the straps of its overalls and tossed it out of his office, immediately going back to his desk as he began muttering to himself. He'd been so close this time...

'Boris' stared at the door that it had just been shoved out of as it slammed shut, but whirled around to face one end of the hallway it was now in when it heard heavy footfalls. Survival instincts took hold and it pelted away, easily getting itself lost in the maze-like building.

Disoriented and alone, 'Boris' quietly wandered through the area until it found a place it could barricade off to keep away the things in the dark.

 _ **a/n- I don't think this really counts as Boris, so I'm calling it 'Boris'. Sequel to Perfect Match and Fixing Errors.**_

 _ **My main AU.**_


	4. Smudged Memories

'Boris' sits cross-legged at its table, foot bouncing in the air to an imaginary rhythm. It doesn't remember the name of the song, who composed it, or even what most of the instruments were supposed to be, but it remembers that it likes the song, so it doesn't let its mind stick to that train of thought for very long. Sometimes the song filters through the pipes from one of the upper floors, played by an old radio or maybe a gramophone, and it's probably the only reason 'Boris' even knows the melody. When the song is real, and can actually be heard, 'Boris' thinks that maybe it could recall the face or name of the person who wrote it if it played for long enough. Unfortunately it isn't played very often, and 'Boris' can't figure out why. It thinks it's a nice song.

Other times, it looks at the pipes when they make too much noise on their own, and it hears something in its head telling it to fix the pipes if it wants to keep its job. It doesn't know why. It doesn't have a job. Sometimes it gives in to the too-deep voice in its head and tries to repair the pipes, and it usually succeeds, though another part of the pipe tends to break just outside the safehouse as soon as it's finished with the bit it was working on.

It squirrels away random objects that it brings back to the safehouse on the rare occasion that it actually leaves. It doesn't understand why, but it connects with some of the objects. A wrench, an ink-stained gear, an old sketchbook, a record or two, and any recordings it can get its hands on. It recognizes most of the voices, and though it can't place a name or face to any of them, it gets comfort from the idea that it might not be alone. It doesn't think any of the voices used to be the one it had, though, since none of them match the voice in its head that tells it to fix or build things, and it still can't talk. It thinks that it would remember how to talk if it heard the voice it must have had at one point.

A few times it found clothes. A shirt and bowtie, vivid purple and bubblegum pink respectively, for the first time. It can just barely place them with green eyes every once in a while. The second time it found an old, pale blue bowler hat. It's unreasonably attached to that one. The most recent accessory it recovered was a single black stocking. It likes that one even more than the hat. It associates it with cigarette smoke and laughter and pretty hair and good friends.

Sometimes it finds books or nametags or little napkins with words on them, but it doesn't know how to read. It probably did at some point and it can still read the letters on their own, but actual words have difficulty forming, so it doesn't really bother trying anymore. Instead it cherishes the handwriting, tries to recall who wrote what, attempts to copy the writing and develop its own style. It doesn't work, but it's fun, so 'Boris' keeps doing it.

Occasionally it finds things it doesn't really know what to do with. Notebooks with an H hastily scribbled on the front, a stack of letters addressed to J and S, and an old, empty inkwell with an equally dry pen and the same H labeled on it. It looked through the notebooks a couple times. The person that used them was a good artist.

Once it thought it might have finally remembered something. The letter M, dark hair, closed eyes, the want to sleep for as long as possible. It was probably right about having remembered that, but it slipped through its mind with the same ease that ink slipped through its fingers when it tries to block a hole in the pipes.

It continues to stare purposelessly at the wall, as unblinking and seemingly free of emotion as ever. Internally, it's going through every memory it has, hoping something will turn up.

Nothing ever does.

 _ **a/n- Sequel to the first three chapters, but probably not the last in this little string.**_

 _ **My main AU.**_


End file.
